


Seeds of Doubt

by birbghost



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Religious Abuse, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:28:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23856106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birbghost/pseuds/birbghost
Summary: Aziraphale is unfailingly loyal to the Almighty, even after the end that never was. At least, he likes to think so. He refuses to acknowledge the seed of doubt that's been planted since everything went down.That is, until one of his shop visitors gives him some unexpected and much-needed perspective on religion and trauma.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

As far as loyal followers go, Aziraphale was about as loyal as you could get… all things considered. With the way he was treated, most would have turned tail and run - fallen - after just a few centuries. Aziraphale, shat on as he was, remained defensive of the Lord’s name, company, and plan, even to his own detriment.

As the world continued on, unaware of its near demise, Aziraphale and Crowley found their own routine. They were much less inclined to keep away from each other now that their sides had turned a blind eye to their interactions. Crowley spent many of his days gallivanting about London, returning in the evenings to the bookshop and enjoying Aziraphale’s company. His apartment functioned solely as a greenhouse in later days - though the two had discussed how they might fit them inside the bookshop and its upstairs suite.

“We could put some of the bigger ones outside the shop,” Aziraphale suggested.

“You can’t be serious! And let just any old passerby knock into them? They’d be dead in a week!”

“We couldn’t do that anyway. It would draw too much attention to the shop,” the angel amended.

“Right. That settles it then.”

They ended up cramming most of them into the upstairs suite, expanding the windows just a touch to let in some more light. Surely nobody would notice.

Years passed by and they continued to get more and more comfortable being seen together. Nobody above and nobody below seemed to care. The longer they went out in public, the more obvious it seemed to grow. Over time, their anxieties began to wane. 

It was on a fairly average day that their routine upended itself quite suddenly. At least, it felt quite sudden to Aziraphale. Crowley was out, relieving himself of what seemed to be chronic boredom. Aziraphale was left to his not-selling of books and his not-drinking of the tea that he’d forgotten about. Unfortunately, he’d given just enough of his attention to his reading that he’d forgotten to flip the sign on his door to closed.

The bell jingled hopefully, Aziraphale jolting to attention and rising from his chair.

“So sorry, we’re-” He stopped, eyes meeting those of a stranger. 

The love radiating off of the man was palpable. The stranger circled a table, looking with wide eyes at the tomes decorating its surface.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, stopping himself. “Ah, sorry, I was distracted. I’m so sorry to say that these particular books have been reserved already.”

The man looked up, giving a somewhat sad half smile. “That’s alright. I only came in to admire your collection. Even if I had the money to buy some of your books, I definitely don’t have the space for them.”

Aziraphale perked up slightly, posture straightening. “Unfortunate. Well, feel free to look at them as long as you like, just so long as you handle them carefully.”

The man brightened. “Of course.”

Aziraphale retrieved his own book from the back room, settling comfortably on the stool by the counter instead. He watched the man for a while, intrigued by the amount of love emanating off of him as he looked through the old books lining his shelves. He was so used to people coming in with the hope to resell the old books for more than they bought them for. That’s why it was so easy to discourage them by raising the price. This man… he had a passion for books - one like the angel hadn’t seen in a thousand years. His cautious glances up at him did nothing to tell him more and only left him exceedingly curious.

“It’s got to have taken you decades to get all of these in one place. Your collection is huge - really impressive!”

Aziraphale nodded subtly to himself. “Yes… yes it has taken quite a number of years. Do you know much about these particular books?”

“Oh yes!” The man came around one of the shelves. “Antique books, especially religious ones, are… really special to me. I’ve spent a lot of time researching them. I actually drove a few hours to visit your shop. When I found it online, I couldn’t resist making the trip.”

Aziraphale glowed, ignoring the spark of anxiety at hearing his shop was findable online. He made a mental note to fix that later. 

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I’ve read many of these before, but what’s astounding is how many first editions you have. Did you start the collection yourself or did you inherit it?”

Aziraphale considered how much he could get away with before swallowing his pride for the sake of realism. “It was started by my grandfather. He passed it on to me when I took a great interest in continuing it. Most of these were found and bought by me though. I guess that’s the privilege of living in a time where there’s internet, don’t you think?”

“Oh definitely,” the man said, looking around in awe.

“It’s nice to meet someone who finds this much value in them,” the angel admitted.

“The same to you!” the man assured him.

“What is it that drew you to them?”

The man stopped briefly, considering. “It’s kind of a long story.”

Aziraphale was so caught up in the excitement of finding an enthusiast of his caliber that he didn’t miss a beat. “I could make some tea? You’ve traveled all this way, we may as well make the trip worth your while.”

The man lit up. “I guess I have nothing else to do. It would be nice to talk. I have a lot of questions about your collection too.”

Aziraphale set his book aside, leading the way into the back room. “I must apologize for the mess. I don’t usually have company and it’s so easy to let things go when you’re researching.”

“I don’t mind! My room back home is like this too. I understand how it happens.” The man fidgeted with his hands while he stood by.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” Aziraphale said, gesturing at the couch. “Forgive me, I’ve forgotten to ask your name!”

“Arthur! Lewis. And you’re Mr. Fell, I presume.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said distractedly as he carefully carried a tray to the coffee table. He settled down in the chair opposite his guest and gestured at the tray. “Please, help yourself!”

Arthur poured himself some tea, adding to it as he saw fit.

“So, what did you say made you interested in antique books?”

“Well, it’s not a straightforward story,” Arthur said. “It starts with my parents. See, I was raised in the church.”

Aziraphale felt a satisfied smile rise to his lips. He picked up his cup, taking a sip. “So that’s why you appreciate the old religious ones,” he confirmed.

“Yes! Well, there’s more to it than that. See, I was unhappy a lot of my childhood, but I thought it was all in my head.” His voice lowered. “My parents thought I was depressed because I wasn’t devout enough, but I was at the church three times a week. I listened to the minister, read the bible, prayed every day. I was much more invested than my parents were. I just wanted to be happy too.”

“So sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale said, a sympathetic expression on his face.

“I started reading other religious texts when I was sixteen. I thought maybe I was missing something. I wanted to know more than they could teach me on Sundays.”

“And they helped? Is that why you have such a fondness for them?”

“Sort of,” Arthur responded. “I started reading them, looking for ways to improve my faith. The more I read, the more I found that I didn’t really care for religion.”

Aziraphale froze, mouth a fragile smile. “Oh?”

“There’s nothing in particular that disproves it as a concept. Actually, once I’d gotten through the dozens of books I read that year, I was more sure than ever that God _is_ real. It didn’t matter though.” Arthur’s eyes rested on his cup. “I stopped having faith that the god talked about in all of those texts was worth following. I mean, you must have read a lot of these books too. You know what I’m talking about.”

Aziraphale gave a curt little nod, sipping his tea anxiously. “Well, I prefer to think the Almighty has good reasons for the things He does - reasons we can’t even begin to understand.” His nodding became more assured.

Arthur made a face, shrugging. “Well, that’s what a lot of believers think. But, if you think about it, God made us like this. Think for a moment about how it all played out. He gives Adam and Eve no understanding of good or evil and then expects them to understand that disobeying Him is evil. How can they possibly understand the morality of their actions before original sin?”

Aziraphale stared at him blankly, trying to maintain a polite expression.

“There was no other path for them to take,” Arthur explained. “God set them up to disobey and then devised a world filled with conflict. It was always impossible for everyone to follow Him. Following Him leads to no real-world change. There’s no evidence of his existence outside years of study. He never could have expected people to do that research - not when they’re struggling to get off the streets - struggling to feed themselves. The world and humanity were damned from the start. Rather than giving us mercy, He put the blame on us. He made it our fault instead of His and He made anyone who questioned Him His enemy. Well… I’d rather be his enemy than a coward who ignores the truth.” He finished the last of his tea, fiddling with the cup in his hands.

Aziraphale’s face had gone chalky white.

Arthur finally looked up. “Sorry. I shouldn’t be so toward with someone I barely know. I’ve just got a lot of opinions about this kind of thing. It’s something I’m passionate about.”

Aziraphale swallowed before clearing his throat and forcing himself to speak. “So- so what is it? -That makes you so passionate about it? -To share it with others, I mean?”

Arthur was quick with his response. “I went to therapy for a while. It was there that I learned about religious abuse. I think that was the final straw for me. It’s so infuriating to me that the religious organizations we’ve built ourselves are so fraught with abuse. If I meet people who seem like they might have gone through the same kind of abuse I did, I try to share my thoughts with them. Of course, you were a different story - since you asked.”

Aziraphale nodded once, short and sharp. His anxious smile faltered for a moment and he set his cup down, filling it again with tea.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I figure I should mention, the current state of Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is kind of tentative. They're still trying out the whole 'being friends openly' thing, but there are definite romantic tones to everything. They both know it too, but neither has really addressed it.

The two had a nice long chat, Arthur trailing into talking about the town he came from, telling his host of how his interest in old books had grown over the years. Even when the subject shifted to Arthur asking questions about the collection, the conversation was surprisingly painful for the angel. He felt a tension in his heart throughout the interaction and it wasn’t until Arthur had excused himself in the evening that he felt even remotely able to confront it.

“He’s just lost his way - that’s all,” the angel muttered, puttering around the back room and cleaning up. First he moved the dishes they’d dirtied, then went on to move some books around, wiping down some dusty surfaces as he whispered to himself. “Shame on you, you should have said something encouraging. Could have-” He heaved a stack of books onto a side table with a grunt. “-could have reminded him that-” He sighed. “No, no. No. That’s insensitive. It’s his own choice.”

The sound of the front door opening again left him scrambling out of the back room, realizing he’d forgotten once more to change over the sign. “We’re closed!”

“What else is new?” Crowley said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He turned the sign around himself, looking at the angel with a discerning eye. “What’s up with you?”

“What do you mean?” Aziraphale asked, straightening up.

“Try all you like. After 6000 years, I know when something’s wrong. What, have you been cleaning?” he asked, swiping a finger through the dust on Aziraphale’s coat. His nose scrunched up.

“Just thought I’d tidy up a bit…”

“Bollocks. You don’t just  _ tidy up a bit _ .” 

Crowley sidled into the back room, taking in its contents. It wasn’t really any cleaner than before. Book piles had been moved from one place to another. A few scattered pages had been stacked up on the floor. An old rag lie idly by, the table it sat on still caked with dust.

“You have company?” Crowley asked, voice curious as he jabbed a thumb toward the tea tray.

“It was no one. Just a shop visitor. He didn’t want to buy anything. We had a chat.”

Crowley stalked slowly toward him, shoulders and hips doing the smoothly disjointed, unnervingly fluid movements they so frequently did. “What’d you chat about then?”

The angel tried to come up with something sly on the spot. “Ah, you know, the news. Big news lately. A lot going on in the world.”

Crowley squinted at him from behind his glasses, going so far as to pull them from his face so Aziraphale could see just how suspicious he was. “What’s the news then?”

Aziraphale huffed frantically. “Fine! Okay! We were talking about books!”

“Now that I believe,” he said, gesturing with his sunglasses before leaning against the desk and setting them back on the bridge of his nose. “What I’m still confused about is why you were talking shop in the back room with some rando and why it’s got you all…” He gestured vaguely at the angel. “... like that.”

“Must you interrogate me?” Aziraphale asked, eyes wide as they avoided the other man’s gaze.

Crowley shrugged. “Sure. Fine. I didn’t know asking any questions at all counted as interrogation, but I’ll leave it alone.”

Aziraphale watched as he went toward the stairs. His posture said ‘leaving it alone’ but his aura said ‘yeah right’. 

As soon as Crowley had made it up to the apartment, Aziraphale let a heavy sigh leave him, shoulders sagging miserably as he looked around the room. He really hadn’t gotten much done, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.

Fueled by the desire not to face Crowley on the second floor and fueled by the desire to run from his own thoughts, Aziraphale set the record player spinning and worked the night away, cleaning up the back room of the shop. 

As the sun began shining through the apartment windows, their rays coming to rest right on the bed where Crowley lie, the demon pulled himself up irritably. Curtains were impractical with the amount of plants crowded in front of the window, so he just had to live with the inconvenience of the morning sun. Maybe he could convince Aziraphale to spring for a canopy bed.

The thought quickly joined the others tumbling around in the back of his head and he headed for the stairs. A trip across the street to the cafe would be nice. Aziraphale had convinced him to indulge in breakfast foods now and again. Turned out they were actually the only foods worth wasting time on. That and coffee. He’d always been okay with coffee, but it seemed lately like he relied on it a bit more.

“Morning, Angel. Want a sco-” He let the word deflate, wide, uncovered eyes darting around the room. He’d actually done it! He’d cleaned the damned room! As stunning as it was to see each shelf neatly organized and the floor cleared and mopped, Crowley’s gaze came to stop on Aziraphale, tucked up in his armchair and sleeping fitfully by the record player.

The needle had long since come to a stop, scratching gently against the inner ring. Crowley was there in a few long strides, moving the stylus back to its place and taking in the state in which Aziraphale slept. His brows were uncharacteristically drawn together and he clutched a blanket in his hands, arm twitching every few seconds. The blanket did very little to actually cover him.

“Hey… Hey, Azir-”

The angel came awake with a start, gasping and sitting upright. Crowley took a small step back, looking him over carefully. “Crowley… Good morning.”

“Morning,” he said, voice softer than usual. “Was gonna pop over to the cafe for breakfast. What are you in the mood for?”

“Nothing,” Aziraphale assured him. “I’m alright.”

“Nothing?” Crowley asked, face scrunching slightly.

Aziraphale stood, brushing himself off. “Ah, actually, you know? A muffin might be nice. Blueberry, perhaps.”

“Latte?”

Aziraphale gave that a little thought before his tired eyes finally met Crowley’s. “Caramel,” he said decidedly. “Make it a large.”

Crowley looked at him for a moment longer, concern lining his face in ways only Aziraphale had any hope of noticing. After only a second, he looked away, nodding with purpose. “Righto.”

The sound of the shop’s bell jingling turned into a deafening silence. The angel sat down at the desk, sorting through a few stacks of papers he’d set there while cleaning. The coffee was really unnecessary. It’s not like he needed to make up for lack of sleep - he rarely ever slept anyway. Yet, somehow, he felt more tired than ever.

It was then that he remembered that he should take down all trace of his shop from online. His usual desk was reserved for books and papers, mostly. He kept another desk, further back in the room, tucked away amongst the shelves. Back there, he didn’t have to look at the monstrosity that was his computer. He wasn’t a huge fan of technology, but it did come in handy when he wanted to find more books. It made contacting sellers and finding other shops that much easier.

Setting aside his papers once more, Aziraphale pulled himself up from his well-loved chair and went to the less than appreciated one on the other side of the room. His dinosaur of a computer came to life loudly - like an airplane gearing up for flight. It worked better than it should have, but that was certainly not by its own merit. Aziraphale simply expected it to load a webpage in short order, and so it did.

It wasn’t hard to find the source of Arthur’s knowledge - not when he didn’t think it should be - and a miniscule miracle would be enough to wipe his shop from the memory of the internet. No more Yelp page for him. That is, it  _ would _ be enough, if he hadn’t stopped to look at the reviews. He saw his low rating and, while satisfied that it would convince people to stay away, he also felt the curiosity of the offended and had to click and view them.

“Owner is stuffy and off-putting. He seems like he doesn’t want to be there and his boyfriend is even worse. Even if I had the outrageous amount of money he wants for the fossils he calls books, I’d spend it elsewhere.”

Aziraphale made a face, irked, but not surprised, by the comment about himself.

“Shop is a dump. I had to take a Benadryl just to keep breathing after I left.”

“The place is a fire hazard. I can’t figure out how it’s still standing.”

That one made him wince. He finally decided it was worth keeping up. The bad reviews might do some good keeping people away. He closed the tab, the browser dumping him back onto the homepage: Google.

Aziraphale reached for the power button on his computer, pausing. He looked up at the search bar, considering for a moment as the light from the screen glowed against his skin. The bell to the shop jingled and he hurried to press the power button, screen going dark as he stood. 

“Here ya go! Large, caramel latte with an extra shot of caramel and a warm, blueberry muffin.”

Aziraphale smiled appreciatively. “Thank you, Crowley.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The two were quiet for a moment, Aziraphale sitting down at his desk while he sipped at his coffee.

Crowley finally broke the silence. “I’ll stay in today. Think I’ll catch up on some Netflix. Upstairs, o’course. Don’t want to distract you.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “You wouldn’t be a bother. I’m… keeping locked up for today.”

Crowley nodded speculatively before finally asking, “Any reason in particular?”

“May as well get the front room matching the back.” Aziraphale tried to smile reassuringly, but seeing how the smile didn’t reach his eyes did nothing to assuage Crowley’s concerns.

“Right. Maybe I’ll help?”

The angel beginning to tap absently at the side of his cup didn’t escape Crowley’s notice.

“I don’t know.” Aziraphale’s brows drew together anxiously. “I had kind of a system for it that I’d want to continue on and I don’t know how I’d explai-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Crowley said, voice softening. “I’ll just be upstairs then. Don’t want to get in your way.”

Aziraphale watched after him, lips parting as he sighed. He didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Part of him wanted to go after Crowley to reassure him that this wasn’t about him. But the rest of him knew that Crowley already knew that. He wanted to be alone and so he was.


	3. Chapter 3

The angel looked around the back room somewhat dejectedly, taking his coffee with him to the front room and setting about the task of cleaning it up. It was a bigger task than the back room. This room was much bigger and had gone into disrepair long before the back room became storage.

It took him the better part of the day to get the main shelves organized. He pulled closed all the curtains in the shop, working into the night and well through the next day before he felt it was clean enough to call it quits.

He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Crowley came down to check on him every few hours. He came down around dinner time on the first night, resting in the door frame and watching him, concerned. He noticed, on his way back to the stairs, the untouched muffin and half-abandoned latte sitting on the desk. If nothing else was a red flag, that certainly was. Crowley worried at the hem of his pocket, hooking a thumb into the fabric and beginning his ascent to the second floor.

Each check-in that followed was a slow countdown for him. He would note the progress Aziraphale had made, take in his current mental state by how furiously he was mumbling to himself, and consider whether it was the right time to intervene.

He knew it wouldn’t be the right time until the angel had finished his cleaning spree. If he tried to interrupt the first deep clean the shop had had in decades, he was in for it. Whatever was on his mind was too big to interrupt at this stage. He knew because he’d tried before during lesser occasions and gotten an earful.

There was one such instance some twenty years earlier. Crowley had insisted on breaking the angel’s concentration while he was working away his feelings and the angel had snapped at him, words harsh and out of character. That bout of workaholism had lasted some twelve hours in total, ending in tears and apologies as Aziraphale explained that one of his favorite locals had passed away. Whatever would possess him to work for this long had Crowley very on edge.

When his cleaning spree finally ended, Aziraphale found himself spent down to his core. He felt an emptiness overtake him as he stepped back and admired the cleanliness of his shop. Why he had thought this was a good idea was beyond him. It would only make the shop more attractive to potential customers. The worn-in look had been unsightly. It was bad for business, which was good for him.

He let his gaze follow the lines in the freshly mopped floors, then let it lift to the neatly lined shelves of books. He reached out for one thoughtfully, pulling it from its spot and letting it fall open in his hands. It was a collection of stories that had been passed down orally for over a thousand years. The stories were accounts of the lives and deeds of influential figures during and after the life of Jesus of Nazareth. They were put into writing only a few centuries ago, written with the help of their descendants and those of the people who knew them.

Aziraphale paged through the book quietly, his own breathing the only noise in the room. Things seemed to echo a bit more now the floor was cleaned up. He wasn’t sure he liked that - made him too aware of his own presence.

He stopped on the start of a new chapter, reading over the words slowly. “His faith was unwavering,” he whispered. 

The emotions that choked him up then were overwhelming - both a sadness and a rage. He was so unspeakably mad at himself. What was worse was that he knew in his heart that so much of his rage was directed at God. 

He grabbed hold of the page staring at him and pulled back, the sound of the paper tearing seeming to shock him out of his state for a moment. He gaped down at the three-inch rip in his book, hurrying to smooth it back out. “Oh God! What have I done?” He smoothed the page out frantically, panicked hands seeming to smooth it right back into perfection - as if the blemish had never been there. But he knew it had.

Like a bad taste you just can’t seem to get off your tongue, the act of desecrating one of his books in the name of rage - rage at God - began to haunt him then and there. He stared at the book in horror for a moment longer before shutting it and putting it back onto the shelf.

He swallowed, blinking away the unshed tears in his eyes and shaking his head. The emptiness returned to him full force and he headed for the stairs, appearing in the bedroom doorway without a word.

“Hey, Angel. How’s it going? With the cleaning and… whatnot…” Crowley let himself trail off at Aziraphale’s unresponsiveness. 

The angel simply came to the bed and sat down gently on the edge, hand going to the bridge of his nose.

“Hey…”

Aziraphale tilted his head slightly, indicating he’d heard him without saying anything back.

Crowley reached out then, hesitating before resting his hand gently on Aziraphale’s arm. He flinched at the touch before letting himself relax.

“Aziraphale… What happened?” he asked, his tone leaving nothing hidden from his question. He wanted to know as much as Aziraphale would part with and nothing less.

The angel turned to him, blue eyes filled with indescribable - ineffable - sadness.

Crowley gave him a significant look, beckoning him closer until they laid side by side, the angel burying his face unabashedly into Crowley’s shirt. The demon gestured toward the sitting chair and the angel’s jacket appeared their, removed from his body.

Crowley seemed somewhat unsure what to do with himself, hand unable to settle in any one place before deciding another would be better. Aziraphale’s silence left him even more uncertain. It was a long moment before his shoulders began to tremble and the telltale sound of gentle cries emerged from against the demon’s chest. 

“Hey…” He repeated the word quietly, hoping it would prove to be calming to some degree. Aziraphale curled against him, hiding his shame from the world. That he would cry over his own dissidence was absurd. He felt so utterly sorry for himself and so utterly ashamed of himself at the same time. His emotions were so overwhelming that he didn’t know how to begin expressing them, so he curled against Crowley’s side and let himself fall asleep.

Crowley watched him sleep for a while, worrying over him and waiting for him to wake up again. When it became clear that he wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, the demon began to relax more, some of the tension slowly leaving his shoulders as he watched.

He sighed a deep sigh, wondering about his angel. What on Earth could have upset him this much. Had he been convinced to sell some of his books and now regretted it? Was he robbed? He tried to pinpoint if there was something that would specifically inspire the man to clean. Maybe there were mice? Could it be possible that mice had made themselves a home and damaged a number of priceless books? It didn’t make sense though. Aziraphale certainly wouldn’t have let any mice find their way into his shop - whether by human means or miraculous ones was completely beside the point.

Crowley waited and waited for Aziraphale to wake up of his own accord, but after three days, he came to the conclusion that that wasn’t going to happen.

And so, he did the best he could do. He bought him a coffee and all of his favorite cafe breakfast options and he set them up nicely on a tray, setting it on the bedside table.

It didn’t take much prodding to wake the angel up. It seemed that just Crowley’s intent to do so was enough to do the trick. Aziraphale rubbed at his eyes, blinking a few times before letting his gaze focus on Crowley who was lingering over him from the side of the bed. 

“Morning.”

Aziraphale’s brows rose. “So sorry. Didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep.” His voice seemed laced with intrigue at his own actions.

“Don’t worry about it. I brought you some breakfast. No better way to wake up after your first real sleep in a hundred years than with scones and coffee.”

“How long was I asleep?” Aziraphale asked, seeming nervous at the demon’s words. Crowley’s definition of real sleep could rest anywhere between a fortnight and a century. Aziraphale was not keen on finding out which he fell closer to.

“Not that long… two, three-”

“Hours??”

“Days…”

“Three days?!” Aziraphale sat up immediately, anxiously straightening his clothes as if intending to go right down and open up shop. Granted, three days was significantly better than three years, but it still put a dent in his routine.

“Whoa whoa whoa! Hold it right there! It’s fine! Everything’s fine! Shops still clean. Door’s still locked. Have something to eat, why don’t you? Everything will still be there when you’re done.”

Aziraphale stared at the covers for a moment, taking everything in as his face fell.

“Hey... Angel.”

He looked up at Crowley, that same, sad look overtaking his features.

“What’s got into you?”

Aziraphale was quiet again for a long moment before shaking his head, like clearing a haze from his thoughts. “I just… can’t get that conversation out of my head. It just keeps replaying...”

“The one with the guy you had tea with?” Crowley asked, leaning closer.

“Yes. His name was Arthur.”

“What’d he want?”

Aziraphale looked back up at him. “What? Nothing… No, he didn’t have the money for buying books. He just came to look at them.”

“He steal somethin?”

“What? No! Of course not.”

Crowley wound himself around the corner post. “What’d you talk about, Angel? Wasn’t really just books…” he said, the disbelief clear in his tone.

“I should go open the shop before people think I’ve closed down permanently,” Aziraphale said, pushing aside the covers Crowley had put over him on night one.

“Aziraphale, wait-”

“I can’t, Crowley.”

Crowley watched him as he headed toward the door, a part of his heart breaking as he watched him pass up all of his favorites. Something was terribly wrong and he’d be damned if he didn’t figure out what had happened. More damned than usual anyway.

Aziraphale went to the front room, drawing the curtains back and turning the sign over. He flipped the lock on the door, hoping nobody would stop by too soon. Sitting behind the counter for a short while, he gave occasional glances to the book he’d left there the other day when Arthur was visiting. He wanted to pick it up and continue reading it, but something stopped him.

As if out of nowhere, driven by a force outside of himself, he slid off of his stool and headed for the back room. As he pressed the power button on his prehistoric computer, it seemed to start up faster than ever before, displaying for him the same search bar he’d left behind almost a week ago.

‘Religious abuse,’ he typed out. He swallowed back a number of unnameable emotions at the sheer number of results that Google presented him with. A wikipedia page, articles on how to recognize it, users asking their fellow internet-goers if what they were experiencing was religious abuse. He couldn’t help but click through it. Even the things that he couldn’t apply to himself were compelling him further and further from trusting his own people.

He remembered the look in Uriel’s eyes when they had cornered him. All three looked ready to grind im into dust. What would they have done if the call of the trumpets hadn’t interrupted them? He remembered hearing Crowley’s, albeit minimal, account of the day he should have been killed. Gabriel had mocked him as he sentenced him to death.

Aziraphale swallowed back his emotions once more, continuing to click mindlessly through the various webpages until he was interrupted by a voice behind him. 

“So that’s what this is about…”

Aziraphale jerked his head around, coming eye to eye with his own judgement. “Crowley!”

Crowley looked at him with barely masked sympathy. “Don’t let me interrupt you. ‘S probably stuff you should have read about years ago.”

Aziraphale was silent for a moment before glancing back at the computer. “There are so many…”

“Did you think religion was all hymns and church picnics for them? The humans?”

“I don’t know… I just…”

“It was never that good for you. Why would it be better for them?”

Aziraphale was stunned to silence for a long moment as he let that thought roll around in his mind. “I thought… that… you know, with Jesus covering their sins… the Almighty would treat them as faultless - if they followed him anyway.”

“You can’t possibly be telling me that you thought all those people who were suffering - all those people who  _ are _ suffering - are just godless devil-worshippers. Please tell me that’s not what you thought was happening.”

Aziraphale took a shaky breath, glancing around for an answer.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair. “Even the most devout are left to die in the streets, Angel. Even the people who work the hardest and pray the longest are told they must have done something to deserve their suffering. Same as you.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a long moment before finally nodding at Crowley and croaking out in a whisper, “I… think I need to be alone. For a little while.”

Crowley gave him a long look before nodding once and turning toward the stairs once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Religious denial is a powerful thing. Please be kind to him <3


	4. Chapter 4

Aziraphale spent a while longer looking through the results of his search before finally turning off the computer entirely. He locked up shop again, not feeling it in himself to deal with anyone today.

He wandered around the front room aimlessly for a few minutes, looking at all of the books and the way the plants looked more alive when they had more room to breathe.

Finally, he stopped his musing, eyes falling to some of the kids’ books Adam had left. Grabbing up a few small novels, he headed upstairs and sat in the armchair by the window, cracking one open.

He could feel Crowley’s gaze whenever he glanced up at him, but the demon gave him the space he’d asked for and left him to his reading without comment.

After a few hours had passed him by, Aziraphale looked up at the sound of a bell jingling downstairs. “Thought I locked that...” he said, more to himself than anything.

“Want me to scare ‘em off?” Crowley asked.

“If you don’t mind.”

Crowley stood, beginning to head toward the stairs when Aziraphale stopped him. “Wait!” he whispered after him. 

Crowley stopped, looking back at him questioningly.

Finally, the sound of voices came drifting up from the front room.

“Oh God,” Aziraphale muttered, a hand going to his mouth. “Oh God, they’re here for me. This is it.” His voice was laden with barely suppressed panic, the book forgotten.

“Yeah?” Crowley asked. “Over my dead body.”

Crowley was about to step onto the first step when Aziraphale got up and intervened.

“Crowley! No!” he whispered urgently, grabbing him by the arm to stop him. “Don’t be foolish! They wouldn’t hesitate.” He gave him a long look, finally stepping in front of him and going downstairs before he could object.

The demon sighed, following after and slipping behind one of the bookshelves to listen.

The angel’s wide eyes took in every detail of the back room as he neared the doorway to the shop.

“Ah, there he is!” Sandalphon said, voice dripping with sickly, fake sweetness.

Gabriel was close behind. “Aziraphale! Just dropping by to let you know that you’ve been issued an official warning from-” He looked to the others. “How did he put it before? Right, right. From a higher authority. We weren’t actually told what for, but I’m sure you already know.” Gabriel’s face spread into one of his characteristic smiles. His expression was spotless, belying very little of the venom and hatred Aziraphale could sense in him.

Aziraphale straightened up, an attempt at a polite smile on his face. “Gabriel. So good to see you. Naturally. I must ask, don’t you three have more important things to be doing?”

“Than warning the so-called native that he’s not impervious to divine law? No. I really don’t.”

“You might not be babysat anymore, but it doesn’t mean you get to do whatever you want,” Uriel spat, disgust clear on their face.

Sandalphon echoed with affirmation.

Aziraphale’s smile disappeared, face stony. “Get out.” He swallowed back the emotions stuck in his throat that had grown uncomfortably familiar. “Now.”

The three looked taken aback at his shift in demeanor, Gabriel the first to respond, one brow raised significantly. “What?” he asked, voice crisp.

“I said, get OUT! Get out of my shop. Message received. Now go!”

The three of them looked at each other mockingly. 

“Guess we know what the warning was for,” Sandalphon said in a singsong voice. “Smells like dissent in here.”

With a few more judgmental expressions, the trio headed out of the shop. When they had disappeared from view of the front window, Aziraphale hurried to the door, attempting to lock it only to find it had still been locked all along. Of course.

His breaths were heavy and he nearly jumped out of his skin when Crowley appeared beside him. “Bastards.”

After catching his breath, Aziraphale nodded. “I rather think you’re right.”

“Did you disagree before?”

“I might have chosen a different word…”

The two looked at each other for a moment before their posture relaxed.

“I need to get out of here, Crowley. Can we go somewhere? On a trip?”

“What kind of question is that? Course we can.”

“Can we go  _ now? _ ”

Crowley floundered for a second. “Er, don’t see why not?”

“I just need some breathing room. Maybe a few days at a bed and breakfast? Anything, really,” he said, hands anxiously gesturing along with his words.

“Course, Angel. That shouldn’t be hard to arrange. Do you need anything before we leave?”

Aziraphale gave a small shake of his head before unlocking the door and stepping out onto the sidewalk. 

Aziraphale noted after a little while how badly he must be doing that the nauseating speed of Crowley’s driving didn’t do much take away the relief of being in the Bentley rather than the bookshop. While the three days of cleaning had helped him to run from his feelings, he could no longer walk through the shop without being reminded of them in every unusually clean surface. He’d played himself, truly.

Just getting some fresh, morning air through the rolled down windows and feeling the sun on his skin was helping already. What a beautiful world he lived in. Things were going well for him and he had a lot to be grateful for. He got to spend every day with his best friend, surrounded by books that he had worked hard to find. He lived in a beautiful city, filled with people he could meet by just stepping outside. Surely he just needed to get some perspective - away from the shop - and he would begin to feel better. After all, it was only natural to be upset by the realization that everything wasn’t as linear as he thought it was. He just needed to get outside of his head to see that everything was still perfectly sensible, even if it made sense in a way he hadn’t thought of before.

“We should stop for breakfast,” he suggested after an hour or so of driving.

“Where at?” Crowley asked, perking up a bit.

“I think I remember this nice little coffee shop not too far from here. It’s not directly in our path though.”

“That’s alright,” Crowley reassured him. “Just tell me where to turn off.”

It wasn’t long before they arrived in a bustling little town and pulled up alongside the curb in a space that had conveniently just been vacated.

“Here we are. I adore this place. I’ve only been here once or twice, but isn’t it just the most charming little coffee shop? Seems like they plant fresh flowers every spring and they’re so well-kept,” Aziraphale said as he got out of the car. The sidewalks were busy, townspeople out and about for their morning routines - walking to work, picking up groceries, heading to meet people - that sort of thing.

As they stepped up onto the sidewalk, Aziraphale stopped and glanced to a spot in the corner of his eye. All at once, he felt his insides freeze. A man sat on the sidewalk, back against the wall of the very shop they were about to enter. His cardboard sign was nothing special, leaned up against the wall next to him with a plea for money.

The angel swallowed back his feelings and headed over to him. “Could I buy you some breakfast?” he asked. “My friend and I were about to head in and I’d love for you to join us.”

Crowley watched tentatively from near the door.

The man looked at Aziraphale with appreciation. “Well, that’d be right kind of you but, can I be honest?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“This place is a bit pricey. I could feed myself longer if I had the cash you’d spend on a meal there.”

Aziraphale thought that over for a brief moment. He’d heard a fair number of times that giving cash to the homeless was fuel for drug and alcohol problems. He didn’t want to push the man further from God by contributing. Surely there was a middle ground?

As the thoughts entered his head, he shoved them back out again. This was exactly what he’d been reading about. He couldn’t possibly know how this man intended to spend his money. Why did he have so little faith in humanity, but so much faith in a god that had turned his back on them?

That thought by itself jolted him out of his head and he pulled out his wallet without a second thought. “You’re quite right,” he said, handing the man much more than it would have cost to take him inside.

The man’s eyes gleamed as he looked at the bills. “This is far too much-”

“Please, I insist,” Aziraphale said, refusing to take any of it back.

After a pause, the man nodded at him effectually and folded the bills into his pocket. “God bless you.”

The angel felt a sharp pang in his heart and he nodded back. “And you.”

He finally joined Crowley, heading inside the shop and finding a seat near a window.


	5. Chapter 5

Breakfast was quiet, Aziraphale uncharacteristically solemn as he ate a scone and sipped at his latte.

“You were right about this place,” Crowley said. “It’s nice. Doesn’t feel crowded even with all the people.”

Aziraphale nodded absentmindedly. “They don’t put too many tables in. It’s not cramped like a lot of them.”

The demon nodded, looking around the room thoughtfully.

They didn’t linger once their food was gone, Aziraphale taking his to-go cup with him and clutching it tightly as they sped back out of town. 

“You know that one coastal town we went to over this way? With the minister’s family and the stable hand we had to talk to some years ago?”

Crowley made an affirmative noise, glancing over at him.

“We should go there. There were a few different B&Bs there, if I recall. Would be nice to go to the beach.”

“Yeah.” Crowley looked at him again, eyes scanning his face for signs of his feelings.

There was a long pause before Aziraphale spoke again. “Can I ask you something?” His gaze lingered far out the window.

Another glance. “Yeah. Anything.”

It took the angel a long minute before he could form words again. “What was the final straw?”

Crowley gave another split-second glance before focusing back on the road, cars flashing past as his speed increased ever so slightly. “Well… depends how you mean. For me, or for Him?”

“Are they different?”

“Sure. There, er, wasn’t much time between them, but yeah. For Him… it was the questions. You knew that though.”

“What was it that you asked?”

Crowley swallowed, thumb tapping anxiously against the steering wheel. “Well… It’s been a long time…”

Aziraphale looked at him, suddenly serious, his voice quiet. “One doesn’t exactly forget something like that.”

“No. No, I s’pose not.” It was quiet for a long moment before he continued. “I asked why there needed to be a test for the humans if He really wanted them to succeed. Cause I mean, He could have just, _not_ put the tree. Seems to me now that history is just a series of God making mistakes in the name of self-serving and then pointing the finger at the humans- leaving out the part where He messed up and saying instead, ‘It’s okay that you all ruined yourselves, as long as you understand it’s your fault and continue to think I’m perfect.’” Crowley twisted up his mouth, shaking his head slightly in distaste.

Aziraphale was quiet as he considered that for a little while. He finally asked, “And what about for you?”

“For me… it didn’t take long after I fell. Blamed myself at first. Then I started thinking about it. Why is asking questions bad if there’s nothing to hide? God Himself gave us the curiosity we have. Why would he damn us for it if there wasn’t a mistake we weren’t supposed to find? Then I was just... _mad_ ,” he said bitterly.

“You don’t think He’s justified in being upset when His children disobey Him?”

“How is it disobedient to ask questions, Angel?”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. “I guess it’s not. But then, why do I feel so guilty when I question Him?”

“Because that’s how you were taught to feel.”

They fell quiet for a bit while they let that settle.

Aziraphale finally tore his gaze away from the scenery to look at Crowley. “They came to give me a warning. From God. God sent a warning because I had doubts.”

“God doesn’t want individuals. He wants soldiers.”

“Well so does hell, right?”

“Why do you think neither of us make a habit of being anywhere but Earth, Angel?”

“Good point.”

The rest of the drive was quiet between them, the radio playing Queen while they headed toward the coast.

When they finally got to the little town of their memories, Aziraphale perked up considerably. “It’s even more cozy than the last time we were here. Looks a little more worn in.”

“Fifty years’ll do that to a place.”

“Maybe some lunch would do us good,” Aziraphale said.

“Where at?”

“I’m sure there’s something good around here. We seem to be in downtown. Maybe we should walk?” he asked hopefully.

Without any objection, Crowley pulled off to park along the curb, the two stepping out onto a sparsely populated sidewalk. They walked side-by-side, Aziraphale glancing around at the different buildings. “There’s a coffee shop. We should see what it’s all about before we leave.”

Crowley agreed, the two of them turning a corner when the sidewalk came to an end.

“Ooh! What do you think that is?” the angel asked, pointing toward a bustle of activity a little further down the road.

“Going by the way the building looks, might be a cafe or something. It _is_ lunchtime.”

“Let’s go see! Must be good to attract this many people,” Aziraphale said as they made their way toward the small crowd.

However, as they approached the entrance to the building, they could see that the chalkboard signs resting on the sidewalk were actually announcing an open house, not the day’s lunch specials.

“Oh. It’s for sale,” the angel said, only slightly disappointed.

Before they could change their course, a hostess greeted them. “Hello! Are you here for the open house?”

“Nah, sorry,” Crowley responded.

“Actually-” Aziraphale took a quick look inside the open doors. “-I’d love a quick peek inside.”

Crowley made no objections and the hostess nodded enthusiastically, handing both of them a small pamphlet. “I can take you on a tour or you can take your time and look around on your own. It’s completely up to you.”

“I think we’d like to look by ourselves,” Aziraphale said, giving her a polite smile.

The hostess nodded. “Of course! Take your time and let me know if you have any questions!”

Aziraphale thanked her, leading Crowley into the building and looking around.

The building was large for its position downtown. The center room led straight back to a small counter, behind which sat a door, propped open for people to enter as they wanted. On either side of the main room was a large, wide archway, leading into another room with tall windows that came nearly to the ceiling - and the ceiling itself must have been at least ten feet.

Aziraphale opened the pamphlet he’d been given. “This place used to be a restaurant,” he said. He could see it now. The small counter, a hosting desk. He could imagine all the tables and chairs clustered in each side room. The back door must lead to a kitchen.

Quite unbidden, his visual was replaced by another. He saw tall bookshelves and display tables and reading nooks. The kitchen could be turned into his study and-

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts from his head. Why on Earth would he want to buy a second shop. He already had one - a perfectly good one in _London_ \- and he didn’t even want business there. What could he possibly want with a second, bigger shop in a coastal town?

Crowley held up the pamphlet, jabbing at it. “It’s a real old place. Been here since the town was founded. They’re having the open house and cutting the price some because no one in town has the money or desire to buy it. I guess there’s a lot of culinary competition here because people come here for seafood.”

Aziraphale looked down at the pamphlet once more before folding it back up. He was torn between forcing himself to leave and looking further. He finally decided to indulge himself. He didn’t have to buy it. He just wanted the experience, he told himself.

The door behind the counter did lead to a kitchen. It was as you would expect any professional kitchen to be. That is, it wouldn’t do to leave it as is if one, hypothetically, wanted to make it into a study. Further inspection revealed a walk-in freezer, a walk-in pantry, and a small lounge area, all with connecting walls.

Aziraphale nodded to himself before turning to meander back to the entrance. Crowley didn’t comment until they were further down the sidewalk.

“You look deep in thought, Angel.”

“What was that, dear?”

“I said you look like you’re contemplating something.”

“Perhaps.”

“Why do I have the sneaking suspicion that this is about that restaurant?”

“It might be.”

“You planning on going into the restaurant business? Not that I’d be surprised, really. Although, do you cook? Can’t say I’ve ever seen you cook…”

“No. Not quite.”

“Though I s’pose you wouldn’t need to cook if you’re the owner.”

“No, that’s not it. I’m not opening a restaurant. Or anything, really. I just thought the building was rather nice.”

Crowley hummed thoughtfully before pointing at a shop across the street. “Looks like a bistro over that way.”

Aziraphale nodded, the two heading toward it and getting themselves something to eat. Or rather, Aziraphale did. Crowley settled for some tea and lounged in the booth until his Angel was satisfied.

Aziraphale had been right. There were a few B&Bs in town and just outside of it. Crowley pinpointed them on his phone in no time, heading toward the most coastal of them and settling in.

After taking a moment to look around their room, Aziraphale beckoned Crowley toward the doorway, leading him out to the beach without a word.

The two sat, quiet aside for the wind, and watched the waves lap at the rocky shore. It was nearing summer and the sun shone down, casting warmth on them despite the breeze. The midday sun gleamed off the waves, coming down in bursts through the soft, grey clouds. They sat like that for a long time.

Aziraphale took in the scene with a gentle, considerate gaze. It was beautiful. Everything was so overwhelmingly beautiful. He could feel the light mist of the ocean on his skin and he ran his hands through the coarse sand, watching as it slipped between his fingers. 

Finally, he broke the silence, voice barely audible through the wind. “How can God create such a beautiful planet filled with beautiful people only to throw it all away on a battle of self-righteousness?” 

His voice cracked as he asked, Crowley looking over to see a tear falling down his cheek. He was about to reach for it when a deafening, grinding noise brought them both to a halt. They watched as sand and rocks began to disappear into an ever-widening crevice.

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, voice so unbelievably small, but growing with each objection as the full realization of what was happening crashed down on him. “Oh no. No no no. I’m- I’m not ready. I wasn’t- I just-!” He choked on a sob, the sand underneath him beginning to slip toward the gap in the earth. Crowley grabbing hold of him as the split reached their resting spot, holding tight as it tore wide open the ground beneath them.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for strong depictions of pain.

As the two began to descend, gaining speed, Crowley could feel his grip on the angel slipping. Their hands were clasped tight, but it seemed Aziraphale was falling faster and faster, both of them surrounded by pitch black. A glance up gave Crowley a glimpse of light, so tiny that it looked like a tear in the night sky rather than the light of day.

He grunted with the effort of holding on, his fingers eventually failing him as Aziraphale’s hand slipped from his. He wanted to cover his ears, block out Aziraphale’s screams of fear that surrounded them in the void they fell through.

His screams devolved into sobs as he lost touch with Crowley. He felt himself turning, his fall becoming an unsteady tumble through an endless stretch of black, though he slowly began to regain composure in spite of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He held in his cries, head spinning as he seemed to fall in all directions at once. This seemed a longer process than he’d anticipated. Was falling simply falling? And how long did it last?

Just as he began to gain control of his fear, his wings unfurled of their own volition, catching air as he fell and making his tumble all the more violent. They pulled in ways they shouldn’t, the muscles and tendons stretching the wrong way and making him gasp. The sharp pain writhed its way into his shoulders, his back, all the way down to the soles of his feet.

Painful noises tore from his throat and the air grew thick with steam. He felt his skin warm considerably, like sinking into a hot bath at first and then like boiling alive. Breathing became difficult, his cries a struggle to get out, but ripping from his throat nonetheless. 

In his ears was a roar so loud he couldn’t hear his own screams anymore. The sound got progressively louder until he was compelled to bring his hands to his ears. He couldn’t block it out, his hands coming away bloody instead.

And finally, he heard a sound like a spark, cutting through the roar as his wings ignited into a torrent of flames. Reality became a blur. He went in and out of consciousness, the alternating of nothingness and indescribable pain leaving him nauseous - though he couldn’t have recognized the sensation of nausea over top everything else, even if he tried.

Eventually, there was no more pain, the unconsciousness taking over entirely. He stayed that way for a long time, not even dreams daring to interrupt his coma. It was impossible to know how much time had passed when he finally woke up. It had felt like an eternity.

His breathing was ragged and his head felt like it was screwed on wrong. He put a hand to his forehead, the pounding in his temple unbearable. He could tell his throat was raw. His mouth was dry. His eyes felt bruised and he had to wipe away dried tears to be able to see properly. When he finally looked around, he could see nothing but darkness. The ground was a cracked, red stone - uneven and split in places where steam could be seen rising into the void he’d fallen from.

He took a moment to look around in shock before he could think a coherent thought. As he realized he was alone, he swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. 

“Hello?!” His voice cracked, the sound of it echoing in the emptiness.

As he waited for a response, he tried to process his own state. His clothes were singed rags, body nearly stripped entirely. He had dark smears of ash along his pale skin. And, oh, he couldn’t bear to even check his wings.

He descended into sobs, burying his face in his bloody hands and letting himself wallow in the desolation surrounding him. As his eyes flooded themselves with tears, face smeared wet with saltwater and soot and, now, blood, he took down his hands and spread his wings, taking in their pitch black color and the way his shoulders were sore still from the violent fall. The feathers seemed to shake loose ash as they moved. This only served to make him cry harder, but he thought it better to get the inspection over with rather than wait.

After catching his breath, he found it in himself to try calling out again. “Hello?! Is anybody there?!”

There was a long silence that followed before he thought he heard a noise in the distance.

“Crowley?!” He stood, looking around into the darkness. 

There were a few more exchanged calls before he began to hear the flapping of wings. He called Crowley’s name a couple more times before spotting him and holding up an arm. He waved it back and forth until he could be sure that Crowley had spotted him, the other man swooping down to land a few yards off. He closed the distance fast, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale and holding him tight.

The touch was all it took for him to resume his crying, this time quieter, sniffling miserably into Crowley’s neck. “I should have known not to ask. If I’d just- just shut up,” he cried.

Crowley shushed him, a hand pressing gently into his ash and blood-streaked curls. “It’s not your fault, Angel.”

“It- Don’t call me that!” Aziraphale said harshly, ripping himself from Crowley’s embrace. His face was twisted up with devastation, voice rough and broken. “I’m not an angel anymore, Crowley!” He held his breath a moment before choking on more tears.

“You’re  _ my _ Angel - always. No matter what color your feathers are,” Crowley insisted, closing the gap between them again.

“Where are we?” Aziraphale asked shakily.

“I suppose you mean specifically? It’s the outskirts.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It’s the fiery plain outside the city.”

“There’s a city?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, though Aziraphale couldn’t see it. “Sure there is. What’d you think hell was? Tar pits and blood baths where people just sit in their misery?”

“I dunno… I guess I never thought about it too much. It’s always seemed like kind of a vague place. Filled with fire and lava and misery.”

“I mean, it does have those things. But we have to live somewhere too. Most demons don’t have a bookshop apartment in London to go home to,” Crowley said with a small smile, stepping back to look Aziraphale in the face.

“Right.” His voice had steadied somewhat, though he was still hoarse from the fall.

“Your eyes,” Crowley said thoughtfully, brows drawing together as he inspected Aziraphale’s face.

Just like that, Aziraphale returned to tears. “What’s happened to them?”

“Nothing, nothing!” Crowley wiped the tears from his cheeks, running his fingers through the curls by his cheek. “I mean, not much. Just the pupils are a bit different. And they might be a touch darker in color. But still blue. Still as blue as ever. Promise.”

Aziraphale tried to contain himself, taking shaky breaths. “What’s happened to the pupils?”

Crowley looked at them thoughtfully. “Ah, what’s that… They’re like… like a uh… Ah! Like a frog, I think. I think that’s right, anyway. Kind of narrow, sideways.”

“A frog,” Aziraphale said, seeming saddened at the thought.

“Nothin’ wrong with frogs. They’re kinda cute little buggers if you ask me. Like to sit around on leaves and what.”

Aziraphale gave a brief and uncertain smile. “My clothes were... destroyed. I had that suit for such a long time, too. What a shame it had to go like that.”

“I suppose we’ll need to go on a shopping trip,” Crowley said.

“I suppose we must do,” Aziraphale said, trying to think past his sadness. “How far is the city from here? For heaven’s sake, I can’t go anywhere looking like this,” he interrupted himself.

“Everyone does, you know. Everyone here fell just the same,” Crowley whispered.

Aziraphale looked at him regretfully.

“Course,” Crowley continued, “most don’t have a welcome committee that’s already got the hang of infernal magic.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale looked hopeful. “You would conjure me up some clothes then?”

“Sure can.”

Crowley stepped back, looking Aziraphale up and down for a moment in deep consideration. He took a moment to run his fingers through the other man’s hair, all of the evidence of his fall stripped away by magic until his blond hair was as clean as ever. He ran a thumb over each cheek, skin clearing entirely, the blood and ash disappearing from his body and into the air. He stepped back once again, finally allowing a sideways grin as he snapped his fingers.

Aziraphale looked himself over. “Oh, Crowley. I can’t wear  _ this. _ ”

“Sure you can. You look great. Plus, you haven’t had a wardrobe update in centuries; you’re just stuck in your ways. It’s a perfectly sensible outfit - and it suits you.”

Aziraphale wiped at his eyes, trying to will away the feeling of being somehow wrong. Crowley was right. It was a nice outfit and it did suit his style; it was just different and somehow seemed to drive home that he had lost a part of who he was before. His suit had felt like part of his identity and, without it, he felt like a completely different person.

“It’s such dark colors.”

“I chose carefully. It’s still within your realm but it’s darker. If you try to walk into hell with tans and pastels, you’re going to stick out like a sore thumb. Do you want every demon within a mile to turn and look when you step into the city?”

“Heavens, no,” he admitted. “I guess dark colors will do. But do we have to go into the city?”

“If you want to take the escalator we do.”

Aziraphale sighed, slouching slightly in defeat. “Alright.”

“We’ll have to walk.”

Aziraphale was about to ask why when he became immutably aware of the searing pain he’d been ignoring in his shoulders and chest. “Right.”

With that, Crowley stepped closer, reaching out to take Aziraphale’s hand in his and lead the way towards hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, Aziraphale is wearing black, cuffed jeans (not tight ones, i promise, and the cuff is low), black socks, black loafers, a desaturated, medium blue button-up, and a navy cardigan/sweater that buttons in the front. I thought dark hipster was about as close as i could get to demonic fashion for him.


	7. Chapter 7

Crowley’s hand was an incredible comfort as they walked. They hadn’t held hands like this before and Aziraphale couldn’t help but keep glancing down at where their hands were clasped like a surprised child. He’d had never really noticed how strong Crowley’s hands were until today. Though, this time, his grip on his hand was iron-clad and gave no indication of coming loose any time soon.

“How far is it then?”

Crowley made a few throaty noises of consideration. “Mm, some hour-long walk from here?”

Aziraphale tried not to express the hopelessness that instilled in him. He was so sore and an hour was such a long time in this state.

“Can we talk? On the way there, I mean.”

“Nothing to stop us, is there?” Crowley pointed out. “Anything particular in mind?”

Aziraphale looked down, considering. “This feels like a dream. Maybe something grounding.”

Crowley looked over at him, nodding.

“Tell me what this means for me.”

“How do you mean?”

“What will things be like now?”

Crowley looked at him for a long moment before holding back a smile. “Okay, Angel. Now, I need you to try not to get too upset when I tell you this.”

Aziraphale looked at him, seeming to brace himself as he nodded.

“You’re going to have to wake up in the morning…”

Aziraphale nodded.

“... and run a bookshop.”

Aziraphale’s demeanor seemed to shift slightly.

“I know- terrible. And, even worse, there’s going to be another demon living with you, hogging the bedsheets.”

Aziraphale felt his face warming slightly and he looked down, a smile breaking through against his will. “What a terrible fate,” he mourned.

“Yeah! And that’s not even the worst of it. You’ll be cursed to scare away all of your customers too.”

Aziraphale gasped, looking up. “No!”

“Yes!”

The two were quiet for a moment, smiles lingering on their lips.

“Do you think anything will change though?” Aziraphale finally asked.

Crowley considered his answer for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. I think you’ll stop getting visits from Gabriel et al.” He thought for another moment before slowing his walk to a halt and turning toward his angel. “And… there’s no more risk in… what’d you call it? Fraternizing?”

The two looked at each other for a moment, realization dawning in Aziraphale’s eyes like a wave, crashing against the shore.

There were a lot of realizations at once. The first was that he and Crowley could do whatever they wanted together and there was nothing heaven could do about it. The next realization was that he was truly no longer an angel and that there was no alleged moral gap between him and Crowley. The third was that the only moral gap that had ever been between him and Crowley to begin with was the vague questioning of God - nothing more, nothing less. 

The fourth realization was harder to swallow. The fourth resounding realization that slipped into his brain unbidden, was that he had treated Crowley so terribly, justified only by the perception that the demon was somehow beneath him for having fallen. That the moral gap between them was large enough to be worth noting and worth treating him differently than he would an angelic peer. Sure, he’d never consciously decided that Crowley as a person was worth less than him but, oh, he’d certainly acted so high and mighty to him - and on more than one occasion.

His expression was relief for all of half a second before it fell entirely and he pressed his lips tight together to keep from devolving into tears again.

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale looked away, sniffing back his emotions and cursing the tears that escaped without permission.

“Hey… What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Crowley,” he choked out. “I’m-”

Crowley leaned to the side, trying to catch a glimpse of Azirphale’s downturned face, mumbling reassuring words as he reached out toward him. “‘S okay… Hey…”

Aziraphale finally looked up at him, tearful and filled with regret. “I was  _ horrible _ to you. You were- You were  _ right _ . We’re  _ not  _ so different-  _ Weren’t. _ ”

Crowley’s expression hardened some. “Don’t worry about it, Angel.”

“No! I  _ will _ worry about it! I was never better than you and- and, how can two people be  _ natural enemies _ when all that separates them is a question? How could I have believed that for so long? That we were different? Cut from different cloth, somehow?”

Crowley seemed a bit uncomfortable about all of this, as if remembering that Aziraphale had said those things was something he didn’t like to think about. As if he somehow disagreed with his new stance anyway. “Well… I don’t think you’re the same as me. Not quite. For one thing, you’re an optimist.”

Aziraphale tried not to smile at that, shaking his head. “That’s hardly the point, Crowley.”

“I’ve done a lot of  _ bad _ things. What have you done, but question God?”

“If I had questioned him sooner, I might have done the same things as you have. And maybe being an optimist is what made me wait so long to question to begin with. Is the only moral line between us that I was an optimist and you were a cynic? That’s hardly grounds for the judgement I’ve passed toward you over the last 6 millenia!”

“Don’t beat yourself up over it, Angel. It’s hardly relevant anymore.”

Aziraphale looked at him, dumbfounded, and sniffed back more tears. It took him a moment to finally ask, “How can you say that?”

Crowley seemed about to respond when Aziraphale cut in with further analysis.

“You’re one of the most forgiving, kind-hearted, neutral people I know. A bit chaotic, maybe, but I’ve never met an angel as willing to turn the other cheek as you. Isn’t that just… Isn’t that just  _ fucked? _ ” he asked sharply.

Crowley reeled for a moment at the word that had just come out of Aziraphale’s mouth, but he did consider what he’d said. “Wait a se-  _ kind-hearted? _ I am  _ not! _ I resent that! I’m devious and- and, conniving!”

Aziraphale scoffed unabashedly.

“I am! I caused original sin! I made the M-25 evil!”

“You healed suffering Israelites in the wilderness when you were sent there to torment them. You showed a poor carpenter the kingdoms of the world.”

“For…  _ evil _ purposes,” Crowley insisted, losing some of his momentum.

“You’re soft Crowley. And I’m sorry I disregarded that because of a label,” Aziraphale said solemnly.

Crowley grew quiet for a moment, responding with some expressions of uncertainty.

Without further argument, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand once more and began walking in the direction they’d been headed in before.

The rest of the walk wasn’t as miserable, Aziraphale mulling over the implications of really being on the same side as Crowley. It did sound nice not to have Gabriel breathing down his neck anymore. He did like the idea that there would be no repercussions for them living together. It sounded… nice. He tried not to think about the part where he’d become a demon. Regardless of how his perspective on Crowley had changed, he still couldn’t shake the shame and self-loathing that came after 6000 years of being convinced that becoming a demon was the worst thing that could become of him.

The city came into sight a while later, the size of it somewhat intimidating. Aziraphale was used to tall buildings, but these tall buildings were filled with demons and the sheer enormity of it scared him to death. Wouldn’t they all be out for his blood as soon as they saw him? A lot of them knew who he was. If anyone familiar caught sight of him, there’s no way it would end well. 

He kept his head down as they walked down sidewalks, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. He couldn’t tell if he was surprised or not by the city smelling somewhat like sewage. There was trash littering the dark streets and all manner of misery lining the faces of the people traversing them. He squeezed Crowley’s hand for reassurance and felt himself relaxing at a squeeze back.

Stepping into hell’s corporate building was nerve wracking. If there was anyone who would recognize him, it would certainly be here.

They walked down long, crowded hallways with barely enough room to move. The air was stagnant and smelled of unwashed bodies and neglected trashcans. The longer he was surrounded by the pungent odor of neglect, the more impressed he was that Crowley always smelled of leather, deodorant, herbal shampoo, and not much else.

He tried to avoid touching anyone but it was impossible, strangers brushing up against him and knocking into him unceremoniously as they all tried to get to where they were going. Stepping into an overcrowded elevator did nothing to help his nerves. He squeezed into the corner and backed up, trying to stay out of the way as Crowley jammed the button for the top floor and ten other people piled in.

The crowd of people dispersed somewhat by the time they reached the top, making it just a little easier to get out of the elevator. He stepped into a mostly empty hallway along with the rest of the elevator’s occupants, Crowley corralling him to the left.

At the bend in the hallway, it opened up into a large lobby, an escalator at its center. Crowley took him toward it at a casual pace, though it took everything in Aziraphale to keep from making a run for it, driven by the need for fresh air.

As they reached the top of the escalator, it dropped them off in what appeared to be a coat closet, Crowley reaching for the doorknob and opening into their bedroom at the B&B.

Aziraphale took an exaggerated breath. “How do you breathe down there?!”

“You kinda get used to it after a while.”

“And how do you always smell so nice?” Aziraphale gave his own clothes a sniff to make sure he hadn’t carried the stench with him.

“I consider the leaving-hell miracle hazard pay,” Crowley remarked, trying not to overthink Aziraphale complimenting his scent.

“Did you do that for me too?”

“Sure did.”

“Is it still a miracle if you’re a demon?” Aziraphale derailed.

“Sure. Ethereal or infernal, it’s all stuff that happens by magic.”

He considered that for a moment before looking around and taking in their bedroom. It was exactly as they’d left it. Something felt particularly weird about that. He’d left it like this as an angel and come back to it as a demon. New outfit, new outlook, same room.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a little peckish,” he finally said after some thought.

“You know what?” Crowley said. “We’re staying in. You’re not going anywhere. Take a bubble bath or something and I’ll find something to order.”

Aziraphale considered that for a moment. “That does sound nice…”

“Go! I mean it! Go relax.” Crowley didn’t mention his reasoning for the insistence, but he was sure Aziraphale would understand anyway. Not that Aziraphale probably suspected Crowley had that reasoning in mind when insisting anyway. The point was, Crowley remembered what it was like to fall. The emotional toll, the physical pain that lasted days afterward - those could be lessened with a little ‘softness’. And if Crowley had to be a little more open about his softness, he figured now was a good time for it.

He scowled at the thought, pulling out his phone to find somewhere nearby that delivers. If he couldn’t find anything that did, one of the local chefs would just have to find himself mysteriously inclined to bring a meal to a local B&B. And maybe a bottle of wine or two as well.


	8. Chapter 8

Aziraphale sunk down into the warm water of the bath he’d run, muscles losing some of their tension as he did. He looked around the bathroom with curious eyes, taking in everything he could and letting each sequential thought roll over in his mind. He was surprised to find the other recesses of his mind fairly quiet and not at all as tumultuous as he would have expected.

He could hear Crowley on the phone in the other room, though he couldn’t hear what he was saying - just the sound of his voice as he rattled off all of the things he wanted delivered. It was a comfort - Crowley’s voice.

Uncharacteristically, he actually began to drift off, the scent of mint and rosemary lulling him off into a gentle sleep. It felt like no time had passed at all when he jerked awake, sloshing lukewarm water onto the floor, filled with a sense of danger and dread. He couldn’t seem to remember a dream, but the knowledge that there had been one - and a bad one at that - wasn’t lost on him. 

He paused for a moment while his breathing slowed. He’d never had a bad dream before - not that he slept much to begin with. His lip trembled slightly and he cleared his throat, pulling the plug and letting the tub begin to drain.

Just then, he heard a very Crowley-like knock on the bathroom door. “Food’s here,” came the muffled announcement.

Aziraphale stood, gathering himself mentally as he got out of the bath. He grabbed one of the towels on the counter, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror before refocusing on the image. His lips parted, surprised. He’d forgotten what Crowley had told him about his eyes. He leaned forward, bracing himself on the counter as he got close enough to examine them.

They were as he’d said: his pupils were narrow, horizontal slits under the florescent lights on the wall, irises a deep blue, just slightly darker than before. It felt weird to call them inhuman when, in fact, he’d never been human to begin with. The realization that he hadn’t been and certainly wasn’t now was more painful than it had any right to be. He’d been an _angel_ before and he was a _demon_ now. There was nothing human about him. He felt a pang in his chest and ignored it in favor of drying off.

As it turned out, there _were_ places that delivered food in the small town. However, trashy pizza chains were not up to Crowley’s standards - not when he was buying for Aziraphale, that is.

Aziraphale came into the room, smelling of soap and his miraculously clean clothes, and found himself a place on the couch by the coffee table. “That smells delicious, dear.”

“Just a little something. Nothing too fancy,” he said as he unpacked a paper bag.

Nothing too fancy happened to be a divine plate of italian pasta, garlic bread, and white wine with dessert. The two never seemed to reach the end of the wine, pouring glass after glass with little effect on their bottle.

“I needed this,” Aziraphale said after his fourth glass, voice a touch shaky.

“Everyone needs Chardonnay,” Crowley slurred with a clever smile. 

“I mean it, Crowley. Thank you.” Aziraphale made a face, trying to chase away the sudden emotions rising in his throat.

“Oi, don’t go gettin’ tearful on me, Angel.”

“So sorry,” Aziraphale set his wine glass down and used his freed hand to wipe away the tears beginning to fall.

Crowley clicked his tongue and slipped onto the couch beside him, setting his own glass down and putting an arm out to beckon him closer. 

Aziraphale rested his cheek on Crowley’s shoulder. “Thank you. For all of this. It means the world to me - _really_.”

“I know, Angel. I know,” Crowley said, rubbing his hand back and forth over the other’s arm comfortingly. They were silent for a moment before Crowley settled on distraction to lure Aziraphale away from sadness. “‘Ey, did _you know_ that frogs don’t drink water?” he asked suddenly.

Aziraphale wiped at the remainder of his tears, looking to Crowley curiously. “What? How can an animal not drink water? Frogs _live_ in water.”

Crowley held up a finger for a dramatic pause. “They _absorb_ it. Through their skin.”

“Really?”

“Yeup. And, er, there’s a _big_ bugger, somewhere in Africa I think it was - gets to be a foot long.”

“That can’t be right,” Aziraphale countered. “A _frog_?”

“Yes! A frog!” Crowley seemed offended at not being believed. “‘S called a Goliath. Cause it’s so big.”

“Like _the_ Goliath?”

“Yeah. Lotsa stuff named after him. Big stuff.”

The two of them tapered off into drunken discussion of frogs and other such things called Goliath. It was a good distraction from feelings and Aziraphale was only too happy to be distracted. They continued on until they were too drunk to stay awake, letting the booze do as it pleased and opting to curl up on the bed and sleep it off.

Crowley was, surprisingly, the first awake the next morning. He seemed damned to wake up with sun in his eyes no matter where he slept. A glance at the clock revealed the time as 9am and he nudged Aziraphale awake at that.

“‘Ziraphale…”

“Nng?”

“‘S nine.”

“Nn.”

“You s’pose they got the breakfast part of bed and breakfast goin’ downstairs yet?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale mumbled, a touch of surprise in his voice. He began to rouse at the thought, prying himself from his spot against Crowley’s chest. “You might be right, my dear.”

The two made their way to their feet, ignoring the wreckage of their night and going toward the door. Crowley held up a hand as they reached it, however.

“Not so fast.” He gestured dramatically, a pair of sunglasses appearing in his hands.

Aziraphale looked at them uncomprehendingly for a moment before his expression shifted. “No! Absolutely not. _Crowley_ , I’ll look _ridiculous_ ,” he protested.

“What’s your excuse then?”

“I’ll, uh, I-er…”

“Right then. Here you go,” Crowley said, making to slide them onto Aziraphale’s face.

The other man grabbed them, huffing indignantly before walking over to a floor-length mirror and considering himself for a moment. “These ones won’t look right…”

Crowley pulled out his phone, tapping absently at it for a moment before nodding. “Alright, alright. I’ve found some that’ll work just fine. Here-” He held out a new pair, Aziraphale looking at them scrutinously before trying them on.

“I guess these ones look okay. But it’s awfully rude to wear them indoors. And while _eating_ too.”

“We’ll sit in the corner,” Crowley chided him, patting him on the arm and heading toward the door.

Aziraphale managed to make it through the meal without any weird looks from other guests, stress-eating muffins and washing them down with coffee. It was after they headed out to spend some time in town that he brought it up again.

“How do you stand looking at the world through tinted glass all the time?”

“You get used to it,” Crowley responded.

“I’m not sure I’d like to get used to it. Everything’s so dark and all of the colors look duller.”

“Could just tell people they’re contacts. But then you have to deal with people staring all the time.”

“Contacts!” Aziraphale nearly yelled before realizing how loud he’d been. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Could I wear colored contacts? To make my eyes look normal, I mean?”

Crowley considered it, stopping Aziraphale for a moment and pulling down the glasses just a smidge. “Guess it does work.” He pulled them the rest of the way off, slipping them into his pocket where they disappeared. “Guess it’s your lucky day. Think I’ll keep mine though.” He paused before adding, “Gotta tone it down on the miracles, probably. Don’t want to draw too much attention.”

“I thought your lot- I thought hell didn’t care about that kind of thing?”

“Well,” Crowley made a considering noise. “They won’t stop me. But they might notice. And if they notice, well, if there’s an awful lot of miracle activity… I just don’t want to give them too much reason to go back on the whole leaving us alone thing.”

“Fair enough,” Aziraphale said, seeming none too concerned. “Thank you, dear.”

Crowley gave him a half smile, watching him look at all of the rightfully returned colors of the surrounding shops and window planters.

The two found their way to a library and a cafe, a nice little park looking out over the water, and an irresistibly cute sweet shop just off the beach. Their ventures left them both with a warm feeling in their chests and ended on a bench in the sand. Aziraphale’s library books sat beside him, a paper bag of caramels and taffy resting on top.

“Today was really nice,” he said, finding it in himself to let his hand bump into Crowley’s on the bench beside him. “Last night too. I’ll be honest, Crowley… after… after I woke up - yesterday, not this morning - I thought… ‘my life is over.’” He hazarded a look up at Crowley beside him. “But it’s not. It’s gone on as normal - some things better than normal.”

Crowley gave him a meaningful look, nodding along and scooping Aziraphale’s hand into his own.

“I’m glad we’re out of the city too,” Aziraphale said. “I think being on holiday was convenient timing.”

“I think you’re right. Speaking of holiday, it’s nearly dinner time, and I do believe there’s a burgundy wine set to be delivered this evening. Maybe a cake too.”

Aziraphale gave him a sly look. “That sounds delightful.”

The two set off down the beach, walking back to their cozy little resort and heading upstairs. Just as promised, only a short while later, there was a knock at the door and the delivery of wine and cake.

Aziraphale took a look at them both with curiosity. “Is this a cheesecake?”

“Chocolate and raspberry cheesecake, yeah,” Crowley responded, unloading a small box that, indeed, carried more than just one bottle of burgundy.

Their conversation started in on memories of the last time Aziraphale had had chocolate cheesecake, evolving into a debate over which country had the best vineyards. Of course, Crowley had more up-to-date knowledge on this, seeing how he still traveled quite a bit. Aziraphale, on the other hand was debating with much outdated knowledge and was downing alcohol slightly faster. He ended up losing, so to speak.

He finally grew quiet after some laughter, taking a rather long drink from his glass. “Crowley.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley looked at him with a touch of mock seriousness at being addressed so directly.

“I want to open a bookshop.”

“Have I got some _great_ news for you, Angel.”

Aziraphale waved at him. “No no, I mean a new one. Here.”

“Ohhh,” Crowley said, lounging back against his couch. “That’s why you were so interested in that, er, restaurant, innit?”

“Im afraid so. I simply can’t get the thought of it out of my head. It keeps coming back to me.”

“What about your shop in London?”

“I haven’t quite decided about that one just yet. I’d either leave it closed down or I’d bring the collection with me.”

“What do you mean, ‘leave it closed down’? Why wouldn’t you bring your books with you to the new one?”

Aziraphale took a forkful of cheesecake, considering for a moment before responding. “Well… I was thinking… what if I had a more… normal, bookshop? Of course, I'll keep my own collection, but what if I had a shop where I could just sell... regular books? Might be nice."

Crowley looked blown away, drinking from his own glass. “I mean, you certainly could. Is that what you want, Angel?”

Aziraphale hesitated before nodding rather decisively.

“Then bloody well do it!” Crowley said with an encouraging grin.

He held up his glass, toasting with his Angel before both downed the rest of their drinks.


	9. Chapter 9

The following day, over breakfast, Crowley held out the pamphlet he still had from the open house. 

“‘S not too late to get it. They’re doing a public auction at the end of the week.”

“An auction? Why not sell privately?”

“Dunno… Maybe they have a handful of potentials they’re hoping will drive each other’s offers up.”

“Well, I’ll just have to give them a run for their money.”

“Or,” Crowley said, leaning closer, “You could save yourself a few quid and find yourself the only interested party able to wake up on time for the auction.”

Aziraphale tsked at him. “Where’s the fun in that? Besides, I’ve got more than enough savings.”

Crowley leaned back, shrugging noncommittally. “Suit yourself.”

The days leading up to the auction were filled with more holiday activities. There were barefoot walks along the shore and trips to their favorite local coffee shop. There were excursions to clothing shops and boutiques. Aziraphale made it his goal to try the food at every local restaurant. 

Becoming intimately familiar with the little town seemed like a fun way to pass the time until it began to sink in that they might just be moving here for the foreseeable future. Then, it wasn’t just a pastime, it was a mission. Aziraphale was heartened at the thought of knowing each corner of his new home and exactly which shops had the best of what. He wouldn’t stop exploring until he’d turned over every stone. That he could even do that left him overcome with excitement. He simply  _ couldn’t _ in London. By the time he made the rounds, shops had been bought and sold and he had to start all over. It was simply too big.

The morning of the auction, he fell into a comfortable little exchange with Crowley that struck him as incredibly domestic. For the first time in a long time, he felt a sense of contentment. 

“We should stop and get some sandwiches from the bistro on the way home. For lunch,” Aziraphale said as he ran a comb through damp, blond curls.

Crowley stepped away from the full length mirror, looking at him. “Good, good. I  _ do _ like those sandwiches. Wonder what makes them so good.”

Aziraphale smiled at him fondly. He loved that Crowley was getting a taste for food. He’d always scoffed at it in year’s past. However, since moving in with Aziraphale, he couldn’t seem to resist. The angel always had snacks and breakfast and coffee on hand - the occasional dinner ordered in. Crowley would eye something curiously before sneaking a taste when he thought Aziraphale wasn’t paying attention (he was). Eventually, he dared to ask for his own every once in a while before coming to accept that Aziraphale may have been onto something about this human delight called food.

“It’s the bread, my dear. They bake it fresh. It’s the perfect density and has a great crust. Makes all the difference, really.”

Crowley made a contemplative face before nodding, Aziraphale stepping closer to adjust his tie for him. They were both dressing slightly more formal than their usual attire, both of them stealing glances at each other when they thought the other wouldn’t notice. 

Aziraphale finally clucked his tongue and smiled. “That should do it. Ready to go, dear?”

Crowley pursed his lips and nodded, following him to the door and slipping outside into the crisp, morning air.

The drive to the auction’s location was actually somewhat comfortable. Aziraphale noticed quite immediately that Crowley wasn’t speeding. “Everything okay?” he asked uncertainly.

Crowley drummed his thumbs gently against the steering wheel, glancing over. “Huh? Yeah, why?”

“No reason,” Aziraphale responded, pleasantly surprised to find no hint of dishonesty in Crowley’s answer. The thought put a little smile on his face, the two of them discussing some of their surroundings. That they were driving at a slow enough speed to even register their surroundings was incredible!

The auction house was slightly crowded, a set of large curtains behind the stage just ajar enough to reveal that there was more than just the restaurant up for sale today. It took some maneuvering to get to the desk where they could check in before finding their seats. When they finally sat, they had some time to kill before an auctioneer finally found her way up onto the stage.

The whole affair was like something of a dream. Aziraphale had been to one auction long ago, but not with the intention of buying anything specific. The urge to hold his breath while waiting for some other items to be auctioned off was hard to fight. He wrung his hands in his lap, Crowley finally intervening by stealing one of them.

When a photograph of the restaurant property was displayed from a projector, Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his throat. This was it!

The price started somewhat low, only in the hundred thousands. It rose quickly, however. A few other fellows, who seemed to have come in from out of town, had begun something of a bidding war. Aziraphale waited nervously for their bids to slow down, but they kept up their pace, the price rising higher and higher. He itched nervously at his sleeve.

Two-hundred thousand.

Three-hundred thousand.

Four-hundred thousand pounds.

He felt a lump in his throat. He finally stood, excusing himself and leaving his paddle behind. The air outside was surprisingly warm, a gentle breeze floating in from off the sea as it seemed to always do. He loved that about this town. He would try not to miss it when they returned to London.

He swallowed thickly, trying to look nonchalant to the other auction-goers loitering outside as he experienced a slew of emotions very suddenly. It had been some time since he’d last bought a property. Who knew inflation in the housing market had jumped at such a degree? Certainly not him. He hadn’t so much as  _ looked _ at a property listing in over a century.

Crowley was quick to follow him out. “Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale looked up at him, suddenly fighting tears. “‘S too much, Crowley. I can’t.”

“Of course you can!”

“No- I-” Aziraphale’s face seemed to crumple and he turned away, moving toward the side of the building where there was no one watching. Crowley followed.

“It’s not too expensive. You  _ really _ want this,” Crowley said. “You’ve not stopped talking about it for the last three days. We put a shelf here, a table there, we could gut the kitchen- donate the appliances. I’m not letting you just give up on this. Not over a silly price tag.”

“Oh- it’s too late now,” Aziraphale said, tears falling down his cheeks hopelessly. “It’s probably already sold to-”

“I bought it,” Crowley cut him off.

“-other ge- you what?!”

“I bought it for you. Before I left the room. You thought I’d leave it there? And let some other bloke put his grimy little hands all over your bookshop? Not a chance in he- heav- Not a chance.”

Aziraphale stared at him, dumbfounded. “You… you bought it? For me? It’s… it’s mine?”

Crowley nodded, pursing his lips and glancing around. “‘S not a big deal, really, I just-”

Aziraphale grabbed him by the cheeks, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips before pulling back. He was suddenly flustered. Wow, the summer heat really had gotten here quite fast this year, hadn’t it? He leaned back, hands retreating to worry at each other. Crowley stared at him, now his turn to be dumbstruck. After a short few seconds that felt like an eternity, Crowley leaned in, returning it with a kiss of his own, this one a little longer.

They pulled apart, eyes locking, Crowley’s from behind his glasses and only visible to a trained eye.

Aziraphale finally found his voice, just loud enough to hear. “Thank you, love…”

“Ngk- no problem,” Crowley said, nearly as quiet. “None at all.”

They stood there, seeming to let that settle between them for a long moment before Crowley said anything more.

“Better… head back in there so I can actually arrange for things…”

Aziraphale nodded, eyes gleaming, though the tears had passed. Crowley held out a hand, Aziraphale taking it and following him toward the door. “How much did you bid on it anyway?”

“One point five.”

“What?!”

“Well it’s not like I had time for a drawn-out bidding war when you’d just  _ walked out _ ! I gave em some big numbers to chew on and then when she called it I came out to check on you!”

“Oh, _Crowley_ , you _shouldn’t_ _have_!”

Crowley made some noises in his throat that almost certainly expressed disagreement as he lead the way inside.

As they emerged from the auction house with paperwork in hand, Aziraphale seemed to be nearly vibrating with excitement, Crowley trying very hard not to grin at his obvious elation. They both returned to the car, heading toward the bistro on the corner of town. 

Aziraphale ran his thumb over the key in his hand, seeming in awe of it.

“Shall we get some wine too?” Crowley asked, interrupting his reverie. 

Aziraphale hemmed and hawed for a moment, seeming guilty at buying wine when Crowley had just blown so much money on his new shop. He finally admitted, “It would be  _ awfully _ nice.”

“Wine it is.”

As they collected their sandwiches and wine and got back into the car, Aziraphale looked up. “Crowley dear, do you think we could stop by…? Just for a quick peek?”

Crowley let the barest hint of a smile rise to his lips. “Course, Angel.”

Aziraphale let a very smitten smile rise to his own and they headed off toward the old restaurant.

The inside was just as it had been before only, this time, it was free of people, leaving them as much privacy as they wanted to look around the place. They set their wine and sandwiches on the front desk (it was clear from the beginning that it would be more than a quick peek) and began to look around. Crowley popped one open, manifesting a couple of wine glasses and pouring a generous amount in each. He handed one to Aziraphale and took a long drink from his own.

“See over here?” Aziraphale asked, heading into one of the side wings. He gestured at the tall windows and how the light cascaded through them. “I think it would be just lovely to have some armchairs over here, and a table as well. Wouldn’t it be so nice if people came here to study or sat here to read?”

Crowley nodded, pulling his glasses off and tossing them on the desk along with their other things. “Absolutely. What do you think your hours will be? I s’pose you’ll probably want them regular if you’re to actually attract customers.”

“Oh, you’re right… Perhaps all day on Saturdays and a few hours each weekday afternoon?”

Crowley nodded approvingly.

“Then I could keep busy without using up all my mornings. Saturday would be good for those who work the rest of the week. Afternoons might be a bit slow. I guess we’ll just have to see how it goes, yeah?”

Aziraphale was absolutely glowing - quite literally. The rays coming in through the tall windows fell down onto his white-blond curls with such a gentle reach that they seemed to set a glow about his whole face.

“You look…” Crowley hesitated. Did he dare say something so honest? The curiosity that dawned on his angel’s face pushed him over. “You look radiant, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale’s features softened into an appreciative smile and he came back to the entry. He set his glass down, coming just a bit closer before asking, “Would you like to look at the kitchen with me? We could make a plan for what needs to be done?”

Crowley met his gaze, intoxicated. “Ng, yeah. Yeah, let’s-”

Aziraphale nodded and led the way, disappearing behind the swinging door with Crowley close behind. “Well, for one thing,” he said, “we need to replace that with one that can lock.”

Crowley was about to agree when Aziraphale pressed him against the wall, leaning in to claim his lips once more, this time a little less gently than at the auction house. Crowley took a sharp breath through his nose, reaching and fumbling to set his glass down on one of the counters-  _ any _ of the counters.

Aziraphale undid the button on the front of Crowley’s suit jacket, slipping his hands around his back and coming to rest them just above his belt. Crowley’s narrow form was warm, heat resonating out through the thin, crisp fabric of his dress shirt.

Their kiss went through stages: chaste and tentative, sensual and slow, trailing into a desperate, aching need, six thousand years overdue. Their breath mingled, the taste of each other and their drinks mixing deliciously on their tongues.

The delicacy of their clothes was the last thing on their minds. They grabbed at each other, slow-paced as they stepped into new territory, trying out the new boundary of running hands up each other’s sides, backs, arms. Their fingers buried in each other’s hair, Aziraphale’s thumb brushing over Crowley’s sharp jawline and down to his neck.

They went on like this for many minutes, letting themselves be carried by their whims until they both found themselves overwhelmed by it. They breathed heavy against each other, eyes meeting, half-lidded, as their proximity sunk in the rest of the way.

“I could get used to this,” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly, a breathy chuckle finding its way out of him as he caught up on air.

“Ng, yeah,” Crowley choked out, loosening his tie and shoving his hair back from his forehead. “Yeah, me- me too.”

Their eyes met again, this sort of idyllic calm settling down between them, and they laughed - face-splitting grins all around and the sort of overwhelming joy that comes of six-thousand years of love, finally coming to fruition.

“But really, dear,” Aziraphale said, interrupting his own laughter, “we should make a list of things to do in here.” He looked around the kitchen with a calculating eye, seeming to take in a thousand things at once.

Crowley exhaled in amusement. “Sure thing, love.” He held up a notebook that he’d not had a second earlier and clicked open a pen. “Where do we start?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm enjoying your comments immensely! Keep them coming c:


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